Hold Your Breath
by moosesweaters
Summary: SEQUEL TO "JUST BREATHE" Fate's a bitch, but what's new? Nat has decided that the universe just wants to screw her over. She's been kidnapped. Okay, cool. But I guess kidnapping wasn't enough, because the asshat of her kidnapper has something else in mind other than stealing her away from her pack. He's stealing something else too, something precious. Something she can't get back.
1. The Beginning of A Bad Action Movie

Waking up in a dark room and not being able to breathe was almost relaxing. Almost relaxing in a way that it made me think back to when I'd wake up in the middle of the night not being able to breathe. Or when I'd run too fast down the stairs and have to stop to catch my breath while leaning up against the stairs, or when is rush too quickly to class and have to rest my head on the desk for a few minutes because the room was spinning in front of me, or when I passed out after Coach tried to get me to run just two laps around the gym freshman year.

It seemed calming, like I was back to my normal life where my lungs told me what and what I couldn't do, when my life was dictated by doctor's appointments and assuming that my constant shortness of breath was an allergic reaction to something or that I just had really bad asthma.

But it wasn't. It wasn't relaxing, it wasn't calming, it wasn't even peaceful in the slightest. It was agony. It was nothing close to not being able to breathe, it was like someone was setting off firecrackers in my lungs, like it was the Fourth of July or something. My throat burned, but the sensation in my lungs was nothing compared to my throat. With every breath a new wave of unimaginable pain spread through my lungs like wildfire; I was surprised I hadn't passed out from the pain alone, but I think it was my body trying to keep me alive. Trying to fight whatever was attacking my lungs.

I was gagging. Coughing, wheezing, gasping, sucking in short breaths even though it hurt like hell. I had to stay awake, I had to keep breathing, I had to keep fighting. But with each gasp, cough, wheeze, and gag, my body shook violently, pulling and tugging against ropes that tied me to a chair. And it burned. It burned like someone was rubbing hot coals against my wrists and ankles.

Suddenly I started coughing more violently than before, something of the "I just swallowed copious amounts of sea water and now my nose and throat are burning and I'm pretty sure I have enough water in my lungs to kill me" variety. I leaned forward in the chair and felt something warm and wet cover my bottom lip. It was blood, I knew right away without even having to see it. I could smell it, and it didn't just smell like metal; it smelled like death, too. Another coughing feet seized me and more blood made its way into my lip, and soon enough it was dripping, hitting my leg. I was going to die. I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it.

If I could see, I would assume black spots would be dancing across my vision, telling me I needed to breath and get some oxygen into my brain. I knew that and I was trying, but doing so was like trying to trying to escape a black hole: impossible.

For several more minutes I sat there, coughing and more blood dripping from my mouth onto my lap. Then there was a clicking noise, and the door swung open. Light was flooding from behind whoever was standing in the doorway and my suspicions were confirmed, black spots were definitely scattered throughout my vision, and everything was blurry. There was the distinct click of a light switch and I was momentarily blinded by the sudden change in brightness. I squeezed my eyes shut, not liking how my vision was being messed with.

Someone walked to my chair, gently lifting my head up from where it was looking towards my lap. My chin and mouth were wiped off, and a voice said, "you're going to have to breathe." Then something was pressed over my nose and mouth, and I started panicking. I thrashed against the ropes and tried to pull my head away from whatever was covering my airways, but it was useless. Eventually I had to give in and (attempt) to breathe, doing what the voice said. After I did the thing that was pressed to my face disappeared, along with the hand that had been holding the back of my head. I started coughing again, keeling over to spit out the blood (or rather, let it drip) from my mouth. The pain in my lungs started to subside and I could actually kind of breathe again without wildfire spreading through my airways with every breath until it was gone completely. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes and letting my head rest on the top of it.

I wasn't going to die, but I was afraid of what was to come, because this had "that alpha who won't take no for an answer because he's no longer borderline psychotic, he is psychotic" written all over it.

When I opened my eyes, I could actually see. And by see, I mean squint because I was staring up at the fluorescent lights the lined the ceiling. I pulled my head up from the back of the chair to see Ms. Baker - the guidance counselor - crouched in front of me. What the hell? Why the hell was she - I stopped questioning why she would be here when I saw a strip of gauze wrapped around her right arm.

"You're his emissary," I croaked out, my voice hoarse from coughing and whatever the hell she made me breathe in however long ago in the bowling alley bathroom. _The bowling alley_. Shit. Holy shit. I was kidnapped. I was kidnapped and Scott probably has no idea where I am. _No - no, this couldn't be happening, I couldn't - I can't - this wouldn't -_

"Natalie, you need to calm down," Ms. Baker said, grabbing ahold of my shoulders. I hadn't noticed, but my claw and fangs were out, and now I could practically feel my eyes glowing. I tried to pull out of her grip, shake her hands off my shoulders. _This can't, I - I - this isn't happening, I'm dreaming and this is a nightmare. I'll wake up any minute now with Scott shaking my shoulders and we'll talk out what happened and he'll tell me that none of it was real and we'll go and sleep in his bed and I'll wake up and Scott will be there, and I'll just cuddle further into his chest and go back to sleep -_ "Natalie, breathe. You need to breathe." _But I couldn't breathe, not when I was in this place. I had to get out, I had to get out and find Scott and he'd tell me that everything is okay, and I'd actually be able to breathe and it wouldn't feel like someone was squeezing the air out of my lungs and like I was being punched in the gut and like I was going to throw up. I could breathe when I wasn't stuck in this small room tied to a chair._ "Natalie, I don't want to do this, but I'm going to have to -"

I snarled. I snarled at her, because I couldn't control myself. If I could breathe, I'd be hyperventilating. If I could show any other emotion than being fucking terrified, I'd be bawling my eyes out. If I could think, I'd stop what I was doing because panicking was irrational. But I can't stop panicking, because Scott's not here. Scott's my anchor, and he helped me through more than enough panic attacks to help me get through this one. But he wasn't here, and I was acting like a manic tied to a chair.

Suddenly, there was pain spreading across my cheek in four thin lines. I gasped, snapping out of my panic attack. If my hands weren't bound, I would have reached up and touched the wounds; but they were so I didn't, only looking up to see who had scratched me.

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PSYCHO?" I yelled as soon as the asshat came into my field of vision. He was leaning forward so that he was eye-level with me; a smile spread across his face that made me sick to my stomach.

"Get control of yourself," Mason lightly grabbed my chin, wiping some of the blood from under my lip with his thumb. My instant reaction was to jerk away from him, but I couldn't go that far when I was tied to a chair. Once he did a once-over with his thumb, he dropped his hand and went to lean on the edge of the arm of my chair. "I mean, really. I expected better from you."

"Why?" I asked him. Why did you expect better from me? Why did you kidnap me? Why did you not take no for an answer, why did you attack my pack, why did you take me from my alpha? All valid questions, asked with one word.

"Because you didn't agree. I did give you a warning, so I'd say this was fair."

"_Fair?_" I spat out. "_Kidnapping me was fair?_"

"Well, I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this," he said, picking at his fingernails nonchalantly as if he was just listening to a friend tell a story, not like he was talking to his kidnappee. He sighed. "But it did and here we are."

He stood back up from his leaning position, beginning to walk circles around the chair like he was a buzzard and I was a piece of spoiled meat. After three laps he stopped in front of me, placing a hand near my head on the top of the chair and leaning his head into the crook of my neck. I tried to pull away, but I couldn't go very far. After a few seconds he pulled his head back and wrinkled his nose, a look of annoyance and disgust flashing across his face. "You smell like _him_." Suddenly, he quirked up his eyebrows like something clicked in his brain and an almost humorous smile formed on his lips. "He's been scent-marking you," he stated, sounding slightly amused. Yeah, okay, scent-marking was normal. It was hugging and brushing up against people and even kissing to extent; marking your territory and outlining your pack. A lot of werewolves did it not on purpose, but on instinct. I didn't see how doing that was amusing to Mason. "He's been marking you as his mate, not just as pack. Well, trying to, anyways. _Trying_ being the key word here."

"_I am his_," I growled at him, before I could stop and think about what Mason had really said. _Mate_. It took me a second, but I realized what Mason was saying, and that shit was serious. Serious as in "_I might want to spend my the rest of my life with you and procreate with you_". But I was serious. I was serious that I might want to spend the rest of my life with Scott and procreate with him and have little were-children (however distressing it might be, just think about having little werewolves running around your house chewing up furniture because they're teething). Dixie Chicks serious.

"Oh, we'll see about that," Mason said, bringing his hand up to caress my cheek as he spoke, smirking lightly. He dropped his hand from my face a second later and stood up straight, placing his hands behind his back, looking to Ms. Baker. "We'll start after the full moon." He glanced back to me and smiled, which made me want to punch him in the face more than I already did. "But first, get her cleaned up, and rid the smell of _him_ from her. Bring June if you need to." He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving me alone with Ms. Baker.

"If I untie you, are you going to attack me?" Ms. Baker asked, sounding more like a statement than a question.

I thought on it for a second before sighing, "no."

She wasn't the one I wanted to attack; I was saving that for Mason. And since tomorrow (at least I think it is tomorrow, not knowing how long I was unconscious really threw of my internal time clock) was the full moon, I could wish that he was the same room as me as the moon rose, so I could maul him as much as I wanted. That wouldn't be likely though, but a girl could dream.

Ms. Baker untied (or cut, I really couldn't tell) the ropes from my wrists first. I pulled my arms around and rested my hands in my lap, hunching over and rolling my shoulders before I rubbed my wrists. They looked a little red, but that'd be gone in a few minutes, if not seconds. Who's idea was it to tie me to a chair in the first place? She untied my ankles next and I stood up as soon as they were free, arching my back and stretching my arms over my head.

**X**

I was shoved back into the room I had been earlier after I cleaned myself. They'd taken my clothes and given me a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants (and a bra and underwear), leaving me sockless and shoeless, which was a little cruel since the floor of my "room" was concrete, and therefore a cold. The room had no other doors and no windows, which I didn't find surprising at all. There was a bed - well, a mattress, a blanket, and a pillow - in the corner of the room that hadn't been there before. I guess someone had brought it in while I was in the cleaning myself. I walked over to it and warily sat down, checking under the pillow and blanket. For what, I don't know, but I had the right to be suspicious. I'd been kidnapped after all. I didn't even bother trying with the door, because I had accidentally brushed the doorframe on my way out of the room and it flared like I was told something made of mountain ash would do. The door was probably made of it too, so there was no way in hell I could break that down. I groaned, putting my hands on my face and falling back against the mattress.

How in the hell was I going to get out of this?

* * *

**A/N: **wow Mason's an asshat amiright


	2. Full Moon Fever

I was having the same nightmare. _The same nightmare_. Every time I had the nightmare it was exactly the same, not a detail out of place. It always started with me standing in my living room. The house would be quiet and I would look around before going upstairs to my bedroom. I'd walk all the way down the hallway and push open the door, which was ajar. I never found it suspicious, not even once, because I did not leave my door open when I left my room; I always shut it, no matter what. Blankets would be on the floor and a shredded pillow on my bed; claw marks on the wall and pieces of ripped poster on the floor. I'd back out of my room and close the door, feeling like finding my room like that was completely normal. I'd walk back down the hallway to my mom's room and the push the door open, look around, and be just about to step out of the room when a blood-curdling scream would pierce the air. I would run down the hallway and speed down the stairs, only to stop frozen in place at the foot of them. What I saw would cause me to freeze. And I would just stand there, watching myself kill my mother. Over and over and over. No matter how many mugs of hot chocolate, nights sleeping with Scott, or talks with Melissa I had I would still have the nightmare.

But normally, it'd cut off when Scott shook me awake and I would just cry and he would hug me. Then he'd either: a) carry me to his bed where he'd rub my back until one of us fell asleep, or b) we'd go downstairs and he'd make hot chocolate for us, not matter what time of the morning it was.

But this time was different, because there was no Scott to wake me up. I hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place, but sitting on the concrete floor staring at the mattress had done me no good of trying to stay awake. Especially after showering and being forced into infuriatingly comfy clothes. I had crawled over to the mattress and collapsed on it, but I was determined to try not to fall asleep. I needed to stay awake. But I guess I didn't do a very good job of that.

So there I was, stuck in the nightmare to see it fully to the end, no matter how much pain and damage it was going to cause me. Because I couldn't leave this nightmare, even though I never tried to; I was stuck in that mindset that what I was seeing was real, because I could see it and I was still asleep. It was real and it did happen, but I didn't remember it. And I hoped it would've stayed that way. But the world isn't a wish-granting factory. So I watched my mother go limp and lifeless. I watched myself keep attacking her even though she was already dead. I watched myself slowly stop and realize what I had just done. I watched myself look at my bloodstained hands, only to see them start shaking. I watched myself move away from my mom's mutilated and bloodied body. I watched myself sit down the floor and curl into a ball. I watched myself lose it and lapse into a panic attack. I watched my world crumble around me.

And then I was awake.

But I was still panicking. My breathing was ragged and it felt like someone was squeezing the air out of my lungs. I had to calm down, I knew I had to calm down. But I had gotten used to Scott being there and helping me calm down, like an anchor, only substitute wolfing out for a panic attack. I would've tried holding my breath, but considering I was practically hyperventilating it wouldn't do any good. I'd just have to wait it out, like I did before I met Scott.

After what seemed like an hour (which in reality, was only about 12 minutes) I managed to calm down, but I was still breathing in deep breaths. I slowly removed my hands from where they had been clutching the blanket tightly, wiping my (for some reason) sweaty palms across the mattress. I soon realized that what I had wiped on the mattress was in fact not sweat, but blood from digging my claws into my hands. I could tell from the smell, because it was too dark to see anything. Disgusting. I crawled shakily over to the edge of the mattress, swinging my feet over the edge and making them meet the floor of my room. Or prison, rather, since it felt more like the latter option.

I pushed off from where I was sitting on the mattress and took a few steps forward before sitting down and spreading myself out on the floor. It was cold, but it was that nice kind of cold like when it's really hot outside and you step into a cool room. I let my eyes slide shut as I pressed my cheek to the floor, listening to my heartbeat. But then I realized something; that was the only thing I could hear, besides my breathing. It was dead silent in the room except for me, who was making all the noise I was hearing. I sat back up, actually trying to listen past the room I was in. But there was nothing. I stood up, walking over to the wall the door was attached to. I was a few inches from it and I still heard nothing. Huh. I pressed my ear up against the wall and tried to concentrate on listening outside the room; guess what happened (hint: absolutely nothing). I moved over to the door and went to press my ear up against it before I decided I better test it first. I reached towards the wooden door with my palm open, and sure enough, it flared when my hand came in contact with it. Mountain ash. Who would've guessed. Good thing it wasn't like that time that I went to visit Scott while he was working and I tried to hop over the little divider between the front and back of the clinic. It ended with me laying on the floor for several minutes while Scott just laughed at me and I glared at him because he didn't tell me that the divider was mountain ash and that I should just go in the back door whenever I visit him.

I came to the conclusion that the room I was imprisoned in was soundproof, whether it was to keep sounds in or keep sounds out, I didn't know. Probably a bit of both. I walked back over to the mattress without tripping over anything (there was a slight dent in the floor that I stumbled over, though) and sat back down. The fact that I didn't know what time it was threw me off. It could be early in the morning or mid-afternoon and I had absolutely no clue. My internal time clock was still messed out from being unconscious and then became even more messed up from sleeping.

I pulled my legs back up on the bed and shoved the blanket with palm-shaped blood prints onto the floor, not wanting to be able to smell it with my human nose. I laid my head back down on the pillow and stared into the black abyss in front of me, waiting for my eyes to start getting heavy.

But as my eyes slid closed it felt like they were snapped open moments later by the sound of the door opening. It was probably a few hours in between the two instances, but sleep is a time machine to breakfast. Quite literally, in this sense. I was going to just to jump off the mattress and go claws and fangs a'blazing towards the person who had entered the room until the smell of food wafted in. I hadn't realized how hungry I actually was until my stomach started to growl at me. I rolled over and saw a girl with a tray walking towards the mattress. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair, probably looking like shit. But I don't think the girl cared about my appearance as much as I did; anyway, looking a little dingy and dirty with bags under my eyes would up my badass level by at least 10 (see every action movie ever). And if I put on a permanent scowl-bitchface combo, that'd probably boost it by another 5.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," the girl - June, I think her name was - said, setting down the tray which had food - an apple, a bowl of what looked like oatmeal, and a bottle of water - on it at the end of my mattress. After she set it down she back up a little bit and stared at me. I eyed her as I scooted to the end of the bed, towards the food. I picked up the apple and sniffed it, which probably looked incredibly strange (but hey, you never know what kind of drugs Mason would be willing to inject into an apple, considering he did kind of werewolf-chloroform me and kidnap me). I set the apple down and picked up the bowl of oatmeal (which I would like to point out had a plastic spoon in it. I guess Mason didn't trust me with a metal one; his guess would be right because I'd probably try to keep it and then use it to gouge out his eyes) and sniffed it as well (again, drugs). I picked up the water bottle last, twisting off the cap. When it came off with a satisfying break of the plastic seal, I smelled that too. All three food items were drug-free, at least from what I could smell. I took a swig of the water and set it down next to me, picking the apple up and putting the bowl of oatmeal in my lap. I flicked out the claw on my thumb, much to the surprise of June (her eyes widened considerably), but I just used it to slice up some chunks of the apple to put in my oatmeal.

After I finished my meal and downed the whole water bottle June took back the tray (along with the bowl, plastic spoon, apple core, and water bottle) and left the room, the door shutting soundly behind her.

**.**

I didn't need to see outside to tell that the full moon was up and bright in the sky because I could feel it from where I was sitting on the floor, carving little tick marks into the concrete with my claws. If I was going to be here for an extended period of time, I wanted to keep track of how many days I was in here. So far there was only one shallow scratch in the concrete near the mattress.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, trying to get the homicidal urges that came with the rising of the full moon out of my head. This was technically my fourth full moon; I had skipped the first one because it was the one that actually turned me into a werewolf. The other two I couldn't really remember, other than being handcuffed to something metal. So here we are, big number four. I took a few deep breaths, blowing out through my mouth. I could do this. I could control this.

But in here I didn't see a need for control, since I was alone and in a pretty much werewolf-proof room. The only thing I was concerned about was the mattress. I couldn't use it that well if it was mutilated. Same goes for the pillow and blanket. But on the other hand, I needed to control it eventually because I didn't want to spend every full moon chained up to something and being practically feral with a bloodlust.

I could feel my eyes flicker from their regular hazel to blue and my canines pushing at my gums. No, I could control this. I shook my head, turning my attention to thinking of Scott. He could do it easily without any problem. Then there was a sharp pain in my palms that I took to be my claws digging into my skin. Words Scott had told echoed in my mind: _pain makes you human_. So I gritted my teeth and let my nails dig into my palms, blood pooling in my fists. I let out a gasp as my claws disappeared, eyes momentarily flickering at the sudden absence of pain. I wiped my hands on the floor, not wanting to ruin the clothes I was wearing or the blanket again.

"I thought I smelled blood," rang a voice behind me. I turned my head and growled at the person, automatically recognizing the voice. Mason. I hadn't even hear the door click open or him enter, which for some reason infuriated me. "What?" he asked like he was talking to a child. "Alpha never teach you to control your shift?"

I growled again, turning slowly around to face him so I was half standing, one foot on the ground, one knee on the ground. He took a step closer to me and I stood up, feeling myself go full-on wolfed out. I was angry and I wanted payback. Screw controlling my shift. Screw ignoring my bloodlust. Screw being angry for no reason. I was angry and I had a reason, an it was only fueling my hate-fire. I let out a little bit more a roar than a growl this time, which caused Mason to just smirk at me. I wanted to punch that smirk right off his face. So I charged at him, but he just grabbed me by the throat with one hand, lifting me up into the air before tossing me back against the ground. I slid on the concrete, getting serious road rash on my elbow and hand before it started to heal back over. I had gotten the wind knocked out of me, but I was back up in a heartbeat.

"Your alpha didn't teach you about strength in numbers either, I see."

I ran towards him again, but he just backhanded me and sent me to the ground before kicking my side, sending me rolling forward slightly. I swiped at his leg and he winced but it didn't break the smirk off his face. He just lifted his foot and stomped on my wrist. I heard the bone crack and I gasped and whimpered, only causing him to push down harder. The claws on my hands disappeared and so did the hair that had grown on my face. He leaned his face down towards mine, foot still crushing my wrist.

"Try and take me on when you have better moves, sweetheart."

He stood back up straight and took his foot off my wrist, which I instantly cradled to my chest and scooted backwards.

"We done here?"

I didn't reply to his question, only avoided eye contact and held my wrist so the bones would reconnect properly.

"Good."

And he left.

* * *

**A/N: **I feel like as time goes on my likeliness to put pop culture references into every chapter will go up exponentially (also mason the biggest douche in beacon hills but you already knew that)

and how 'bout them little snippets of Scott and Natalie doing stuff behind the scenes? should I put some more of that in? if so please review telling me if I should or not asap it's very very important that I know now because (I can't tell you it's a surprise). but yeah.


	3. Cue the Montage

I had found a bar in my room. Not like the kind that you'd go and get a drink from, but instead the kind that was made out of metal and stuck into the wall. I don't know what it was from or how it was even in the room, but if I had to guess I'd say it was probably previously used to hold up a curtain considering how high up it was. Maybe this room used to actually have windows. Or maybe Mason was a weird fuck and just had curtains hanging up in a windowless room. Both were possibilities.

I decided to test the bar to if it could hold my weight. I had to jump up I reach the bar, since it was a few inches above my grasp when I reached my arms directly upwards. I was surprised to find that it did hold my weight, not even bending or bowing. Huh. I wiggled slightly, moving myself around to see if it would hold more than just resting weight, which it did. Good.

I dropped back down and took off my shirt, throwing it on the mattress. I didn't want the only shirt I had to get sweaty and gross. If I was going to be stuck in here for an indefinite amount of time I might as well train up and work out because I had a feeling that my current captive situation would eventually end in a fight between opposing parties, and I could be caught in the crossfire. I would have to protect myself; and if I was ready, I could.

I pushed my bangs out of my face and tossed my hair over my shoulder. It was the most I could do (which really wasn't much at all) to keep my hair out it my way while not in possession of a hair tie. I wiped my hands on my sweatpants and jumped back up to grab the bar. My feet were a few inches away touching the floor, but if I flexed my feet I could almost touch the floor. And by almost I mean there was a good three inches between my toes and the concrete. I shuffled my grip on the bar, turning my hands around so my knuckles were facing the wall instead of towards the middle of the room, like they had been when I had jumped. I curled up my legs slightly behind me, ready to do my first meaningful pull-up ever.

I mean, I did unintentional pull-ups as a child, but by the time we did the BHHS pull-up challenge in P.E. I had gotten a proper doctor's note (after being missing for about a week from all my classes) and was able to sit out of pretty much anything that required physical exertion while administration looked for a class with openings that I could transfer into without being too far behind in the particular subject. They apparently didn't want me to just sit out of everything while I could be learning something. But not being able to participate didn't mean that I did nothing the whole time. Coach would have me organize things for him and keep score for the games we played in class, even going as far as having me fill out forms for Beacon Hills Cyclones sweatshirts, t-shirts, and sweatpants, as well as grading papers from his Econ class. But I was completely fine with not playing any games, not only because it reduced my chance of ridiculous sports-related injuries, but not participating in things didn't make me feel like I was going to pass out, unlike running back and forth across the gym.

But now here I was, lung tumor (or should I say tumors, because the cells decided to have a party and move to my properly working lung and well as spread out in my improperly working lung, further worsening my breathing ability - hence why I was hooked up to oxygen during my brief stay at the hospital) free and hanging from a metal bar that most likely held up a curtain at one point.

I sighed out a breath and tapped my fingers against the bar before I began to pull myself up. I imagined that it would probably be harder to do pull-ups without any supernatural strength, using my memory of watch the kids try and do pull-ups, most of them failing. And considering I was in the "out of shape" category before I was bitten, I think I remained in that category. I hadn't done any extra working out - or working out in the first place - other than running around the preserve with Scott, but that would be more sparring than working out. I'm not saying that doing the pull-ups - I had done three by now - were exactly hard, but they weren't easy either. I still had to put in effort to do them, unlike Scott, who could practically do them in his sleep. On more than one occasion of me waking up in his bed he would be doing pull-ups on the bar that he had hooked to the doorframe of his connected bathroom. I would lay there half asleep, watching him move up and down until he'd say, "what are you staring at?" without even pausing in his motion. I'd grin lazily and reply with, "nothing," bunching up his pillow and wrapping my arms around it as I continued to watch him.

I eventually gave up on doing pull-ups, stopping at number twenty-six. I dropped down from the bar and stood there for a second, thinking of what I should do next. I couldn't really spar with anyone since I was alone, and I didn't want to use the mattress as a makeshift dummy and rip it up just so I could practice with my claws; I settled for doing some push-ups and sit-ups. After doing who knows how many of each I spread myself out on the floor, using the cold concrete to cool my body. I didn't even feel like I was doing that much work, but apparently my body thought I was so it decided to sweat like nobody's business.

I sat back up eventually, lazily reaching towards my toes to stretch out my back, which turned into full blown stretching my whole body. I realized should've stretched before even starting the pull-ups, but hey, when you find a metal bar in your featureless prison you get pretty excited and forget important stuff, okay? But the stretching got me thinking. What were other ways I could train and/or work out without sparing with someone? My brain popped one solution to the from of my mind: break out those gymnastics moves. It wasn't exactly the best idea though, considering that my only gymnastics training had been in grades five, six, and seven when my mom was insistent in making me participate in some type of sport. I didn't continue into eighth grade doing it because I had developed what looked like exercise-induced asthma, but in realty were the first stages of my lung cancer. I had gotten an inhaler to use in emergencies, but I refused to use it due to the fact that I was stubborn and had lost it after a week and a half. I never found it again, if you were wondering. I have no idea where that thing disappeared to.

Still, in my three years of I managed to work my way up to doing a standing back tuck all on my own, quite a feat for one (much, much smaller) Natalie King who was (and still is) very uncoordinated and unathletic.

I started with just leaning back, the base for a back walkover. At first I just used one hand to go all the way back then bring my other one to the floor, continuing to do it until I could just lead all the back with no problem or hesitation. If you were quick enough and had good rebound time, it could be used to dodge a swipe of the claws; just lean back and catch yourself with your hand, just to bounce right back up and swipe back. If you were lucky you could back walkover that bitch and kick someone in the face. And if you were wearing steel-toed boots or just so happen to have claws on your toes, that move would be super effective.

After hours - probably, my internal time clock was still pretty messed up - of working out and doing some very poor gymnastics I felt completely exhausted. If this was what it was like to seriously work out I never wanted to do this again.

I crawled onto the mattress, not even bothering to put my shirt back on or cover myself up with the blanket. I was too warm, and my hair was making it worse. But not having slept in (what I assumed was) several hours outweighed the fact that I felt like I was sleeping in a sauna. My eyelids were heavy and slid shut without any protest.

**.**

I yawned as I rolled over, rubbing my eyes with hand. I opened my eyes to see Scott staring at me, the two of us practically nose-to-nose. His face was squished up against the pillow and he was smiling at me.

"Hey," he whispered in a sleepy voice.

"Hey," I whispered back in an equally as sleepy voice. I yawned again and grinned at him and his stupid squished face.

He titled his head slightly and moved to close the nearly nonexistent gap between us, pressing his lips to mine. My grin held to my face and I cupped his cheek before moving my lips against his. Morning smooches with Scott were the best, even though both of our breaths smelled. We were able to look past that minor detail of stinky breath and kiss as much as we wanted on a Saturday morning, knowing that we could so as long as we wanted without being interrupted (well, usually. Melissa walked in us once but was quick to back right out of the room and Stiles essentially had spidey senses, causing him to text or call one of us every time we decided to makeout, becoming the most effective makeout-cockblock in history). Our makeout sessions would usually end with us in the bathroom brushing our teeth together, talking to each other with toothbrushes in our mouths and toothpaste foam dripping down our chins. It was a little gross, but hey, when you love somebody you put up with their inability to keep toothpaste in their mouth when brushing their teeth. We'd reconvene on either mine or Scott's bed, depending on who's bed we slept in the night before (although somehow it ended up being Scott's bed more often than not).

But right now we were still on Scott's bed, slowly kissing like we had all the time in the world. That was, until it progressed to me rolling on top of Scott in a single fluid motion, my hand slid across his cheek to behind his ear, then to the back of his neck. His hands slid to my hips, slowly raising himself into a sitting position. I put my other arm around his neck, pulling him closer to me - if that was even possible - and he broke from the kiss to move to my jaw, kissing along it instead as he trailed down to my neck. As he did so his fingers played with the hem of my shirt - well, his shirt but I had adopted it so it was mine now and he was never getting it back ever - before slipping his hands under the fabric, fingers curling into my hips and spreading goosebumps where he came in contact with my skin. I shivered involuntarily and he smiled against my neck. I grinned right back, although he couldn't see it with his face pressed into the crook of my neck.

My fingers found the hem of the back of his shirt and I tugged on it. He got the hint and pulled away from my neck to take off his shirt. I bit my lips as I smiled at him, helping him get his shirt over his head without it getting stuck. While I tossed the shirt away, Scott decided it was a good time to flip me over, causing me to let out a suprised noise. His hands slid up my hips to the sides of my stomach, his thumbs raising the edge of my shirt as his hands travelled upwards. He stopped just before my bra - sports bra, mind you, regular bras are a pain to sleep in - and began to press kisses to my stomach, trailing upwards. I withheld a giggle, my stomach being extremely ticklish. He finally made his way to where his hands were resting on my ribs and he grinned, giving me a quick peck on the lips before helping me take off my shirt. After it was off he lowered himself so we could continue making kissing.

"You need to wake up, Natalie," Scott mumbled against my lips, like it was nothing.

"What?" I breathed out breaking away from the kiss. Why was he telling me to wake up?

"Wake up, Nat,."

"What?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows. "Scott, what are you talking about?"

"Wake up, Nat. Wake up."

"I don't- what?"

He placed a hand on my cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. "You'll be okay, just wake up."

There were now tears in my eyes and I don't know how they got there. "Scott, no- please, _please_ don't."

"You'll be okay, just wake up."

"No, _no_, Scott. No- don't, _Scott don't_-"

"I'll always be there, okay? Just wake up." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to rid the tears from eyes. This had to be real. I couldn't be dreaming, dreams don't feel this _real_. "Wake up," he whispered, and my eyes flew open. The room was dark and I was struggling to breathe. I was choking on air, hot tears rolling down my face.

* * *

**A/N: **just fyi the ship name I use for Nat and Scott is McKing (it also sounds like the ship name for McDonalds and Burger King but I am just going to ignore that) because their first names just don't mash together well at all

also idk if that last scene there was more romantic or emotionally distressing like really


	4. These Things Never End Well

I sat up and rubbed my face, dragging my palms across my cheeks to rid the tears from my face. Dreams should not feel that real. Dreams should _never_ feel that real.

I dropped my upper half back onto the mattress, letting out a choked sigh and closing my eyes. Why my life have to be so shit? I mean it was okay up until the cancer, and then Scott happened and everything was a-ok, but then Mason showed his ugly face and it just went downhill again. It made me think, what if I hadn't gone for that walk in the woods? Would things be different? Would I be a werewolf right now? Would I be locked in a soundproof room in who knows where right now? Would I be dead right now? Who knows.

I jumped when the door opened suddenly, flooding the room with light. I sat up, only able to see the silhoutte of a rather large person that was not Mason nor Ms. Baker. In what seemed like a flash the large person was pulling me off the mattress, arms wrapped tightly around my chest, probably to stop me from trying to fight them. This felt strangely familiar, until it clicked in my head; this person - _this guy_ - was the one who held me back while Mason attacked Isaac at the school. I tried to pull away from him, but it was kind of hard when he was holding me to his chest with my feet not exactly touching the ground. So I stopped moving, letting him take me wherever he was going to take me.

We went down the hall from my prison, the opposite direction of the small bathroom, towards a staircase. But we didn't go up the stairs. No, we went into a small room that was just before the stairs where one Mason Ward was standing behind a chair, Ms. Baker at his side.

"Thank you, Tom," Mason said with a smile - it was more like an evil smirk but whatever - before stepping out from behind the chair and motioning to it, "please put Natalie down."

Tom did as he was told, releasing him from his grip and put me into the chair, only to hold down my shoulders. Mason motioned with his hand to the chair - or rather, _me - _to Ms. Baker, who stepped forward and tied my wrists to the chair with rope. They were obviously laced with wolfsbane, since Ms. Baker was the one who had to tie me down and considering that they burned as I tried to pull my wrists free. They were probably the same ones I had woken up tied to a chair with. Probably the same chair too.

"Close the door on your way out," Mason told Tom, who exited the room and pulled the door closed behind him, leaving me alone with Ms. Baker and my now-nemesis.

"What are going to do?" I asked through gritted teeth, trying again to pull my wrist free even though it was absolutely no use.

"You'll see," he replied, and I could feel him run a hand down the back of my head like he was stroking my hair before he gathered it in one hand and threw it over my shoulder. He placed a hand on the back of my exposed neck and it caused goosebumps to erupt where he had touched, and not the good kind. I lurched forward, trying to get away from his hand, but that was kind of hard when you're tied to a chair. Apparently that was the reaction that he had expected, because I heard him chuckle behind me, his hand finding my neck again; only this time, I felt claws gently drag across my neck, which caused me to squirm. I did not like this one bit, not at all. So I tried to pull away again, move his hand and his claws away from the back of my neck.

"Stay still," he growled as his non-clawed hand grabbed my jaw, holding my head in place and I reluctantly complied. He lined his claws up against the vertebrae in my neck, pushing lightly against the skin. I clenched my teeth as soon as his claws pierced the skin and began digging into my neck, but my mind suddenly went fuzzy. I don't know, I couldn't really explain the feeling. It was like I was standing in the middle of a fog bank underwater: really fucking hazy, but yet incredibly calm and relaxing for some reason. Suddenly, something flashed in front of my eyes.

_My hand slid across his cheek to behind his ear, then to the back of his neck. His hands slid to my hips, slowly raising himself into a sitting position. I put my other arm around his neck, pulling him closer to me - if that was even possible - and he broke from the kiss to move to my jaw, kissing along it instead as he trailed down to my neck. As he did so his fingers played with the hem of my shirt - well, his shirt but I had adopted it so it was mine now and he was never getting it back ever - before slipping his hands under the fabric, fingers curling into my hips and spreading goosebumps where he came in contact with my skin. I shivered involuntarily and he smiled against my neck. I grinned right back, although he couldn't see it with his face pressed into the crook of my neck._

Then it was gone. It was like watching a movie, but not really, because I could feel myself in the situation. A different one quickly replaced it.

_"You know," he said all of a sudden, taking my other hand and intertwining those fingers with his, turning around so he back was facing the doorway back into the house. "I think I might want to just stay in. Keep you to myself." He began to attempt at dragging me back into the house, but I wasn't having any of that._

_"Nope, we are definitely going bowling," I said, dragging him back down the driveway to his bike, "even if it kills me. Even if it kills you. Even if it kills half of Beacon Hills, we are going bowling."_

Then another.

_"SCOTT MCCALL YOU DID NOT JUST BLUE SHELL ME. I SWEAR TO GOD, SCOTT, I SWEAR TO GOD THAT I WILL END YOU." He just grinned and I swatted at his hand, trying to get the controller out of his grip while trying steering with one hand. "You are so cheating and I am going to tell your mom on you! I'm going to call her and tell her son is a big fat cheater!"_

And another.

_"Dead," he proclaimed, miming slashing my throat with his de-clawed hand._

_"I know," I groaned from the ground, putting my hands on my face. "I should've known when you didn't move; you usually dance around. I'm so stuuuuupid."_

_He held out a hand for me and I took it, pulling myself halfway up before yanking Scott onto the ground and crawling on top of him, moving my hand across his neck. "Dead," I said, grinning. I plopped myself down onto his chest and he groaned at the sudden change in weight._

And another.

_"Anyways," he whispered into my hair, "I called dibs."_

_I choked out a laugh, lifting my head up from his shoulder and wiggling an arm out from between us so I could wipe my face with my hand. "When did you ever call dibs?"_

_"I though about it when I first met you -"_

_I pulled back from his hug to look at him. "I looked like I was dying. Literally. Why would you want to call dibs on that?"_

_"I wasn't finished. Now where was I? Ah yes, when I first met you. I knew you were dying, but I almost called dibs anyway. It wouldn't really count, though, since Stiles wasn't there; he wouldn't be able to witness me calling dibs, so it wouldn't be official."_

_"Official? What are you, twelve?"_

_"Shut up," he said playfully. "I'm trying to be romantic. Now shhh, quit interrupting." He looked wistfully into space, like he was imagining what he was telling me. "The second time I thought about it was when you told me you lost your inhaler. The third time was when you broke down, on the hospital bed."_

_"You almost called dibs -"_

_"Shhhhh." He pressed a finger to my lips to shut me up. "The fourth time was when you fell into your coma. But that was when I officially called dibs, and made Stiles witness to it."_

_"You called dibs on my when I was about to die? Wow, impeccable timing McCall."_

And another, and another, and another.

_"Don't move, I'll be right back - well, actually, you can sit down. I'm not stopping you - uh, just - yeah. Be right back," he said as be took a few steps back, then taking off running down the path when he finished. I walked leisurely up to the blanket, taking a seat on the edge of it. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Stiles had shoved a condom under the blanket at this point, because it seemed like the thing he would do, and there was a completely opportune moment for me to find it while I was alone._

_Scott came back quickly, grinning as he came over to the blanket with an oversized picnic basket._

_"So what will we be dining on tonight?" Scott just let out a sigh as he opened the basket, then pulled a fast food bag out of the wicker basket._

_"This was supposed to be romantic," he groaned._

_"Don't worry, nothing says romance like curly fries."_

They just kept coming.

_"As long as you remember to grab homework for me from the classes I'm going to miss," I said, a small smile making its way onto my lips. I looked at his face, squinting my eyes at him, before rubbing the side of his hand again in a comforting manner. "Hey, you're worrying, I can tell. Stop that. Don't worry. I'll be fine, it's just counseling."_

_"I'm not worried about the counseling, I'm worried about you. Are you sure you want to be here today? I still have time to take you home and make it back before school starts."_

_"Yes, I'm sure I want to be here. And you don't need to worry about me. Okay, actually, maybe sometimes you do. Just a little bit. But it's only nightmares, I'm fine when I'm awake. I'm good, I'm in the clear. If something happens or goes wrong, I'll tap out morse code for S.O.S on the chair."_

_"In that case, I'll keep an ear out," he said before pressing his lips to my forehead._

There was no end in metaphorical sight.

_"Hey, shh, it's not real Nat. It's not real."_

_"It is real. It was real," I muttered between sobs, but he could hear what I had said._

_"Nat," he said gently, lifting my chin to look at him and wiping some of my tears with his thumb, "it's not real anymore."_

No stopping to pause in between them.

_For some unknown reason to me, the words made their way out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Then maybe you should."_

_A small smile cracked on his lips and his hand went up to my face, his thumb dragging along my cheekbone and his fingers threading into my hair, which sent butterflies straight to my stomach. I instinctively tilted my head into his hand and he gently pulled me down towards him, lifting his head up to meet me halfway. We were both smiling when our lips first touched. There was some sort of silent agreement that okay, attempt two, smiling and touching lips doesn't count._

_The second time around he was gentle about it, and we probably laid there on the forest floor for at least fifteen minutes, just kissing. Good thing there were no runners or joggers in the immediate forest area at the time, because that would just be embarrasing for them to see. Like we would even notice, we were too busy with each other's lips. When he finally pulled back, both of our faces were flushed._

_"Natalie?" he asked quietly._

_"Yeah?"_

_"I think I left the passenger side window unrolled. Like all the way."_

One directly after the last.

_"Where the hell?" I muttered as I looked at my newly obtained schedule. I then let out a sigh, wanting to smash my head against a wall._

_"What?" he asked, peaking over my shoulder at my schedule._

_"My locker is upstairs. Why couldn't they just give me the locker I had before, that was downstairs where practically all of my classes are?"_

_"It's because they have a deep-rooted hatred for students that come back from the dead." He grinned, and I elbowed him in the ribs._

_"Shut up and help me find my locker."_

Giving me zero time to process.

_"Come on in." He stepped back from the doorway and towards the bed, letting me enter. I followed him in, but as soon as I entered his room I began blindly reaching for him. I found his wrist and gripped onto it tight. I felt him turn around. "Nat? Are you okay?"_

_"No, Scott, I don't think I am." And then it hit me like a ten-foot-tall wave of raw emotion. My knees bent, and I lost the grip I had the pillow; I lost the grip I had on my emotions and the pillow was a convenient metaphor for it. I sucked in a shaky breath, and it all came pouring out. The tears started and I lost my ability to do any other function than cry. He freed his wrist from my hand, which was easy since all I could do was cry at the moment, wrapping his arms around my back and lifting me up slightly so I was properly standing up. He shut the door with his foot, lifting grounding his arms and carrying me over to his bed. He crawled onto the bed with me in his arms, sitting back against the headboard. He adjusted me in his lap so I was sitting comfortably before he pulled the covers up over both of us. He ran a hand through my now-slightly damp hair, dragging it down my back before he pressed his lips to my forehead, giving it a light kiss._

_"It's going to be okay, Nat, I promise," he muttered into my forehead. "It's all going to be okay."_

But I didn't need to.

_"You ready?"_

_"Yeah, I'm ready. But could you give me the example one more time? I still have that cheesy werewolf stuck in my head." He did the transformation, showing off his werewolf features by smiling. It was hard to look at him without blushing, considering what had just happened minutes ago. "Okay, I think I've got it this time." The smile lingered on his face as he changed back, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I concentrated on what he had looked like, picturing the features on myself instead of him. This time, something felt different. I could feel the change happen, slow and gradual, not at all like he had done. It was like someone was apply layers of make-up or prosthetics on my face and that my nail beds were moving backwards, the nail-claws springing out of them. When the feeling of adding prosthetics ended, I knew I had changed completely. I wasn't going to open my eyes yet, because I didn't want to overstimulate my brain and lose the control I had right now. I curled my fingers gently towards my palm, feeling the claws scrape lightly against them. I could feel Scott smiling at me, and I could feel the corners of my mouth perk up in a somewhat smile._

_I changed back into my normal human appearance - which was way easier than changing into a werewolf - and put my head in my hands._

_"That was terrible."_

_"That was fine," he said, putting his hands on elbows and pulling them downwards to move my hands from my face._

Because they were they and then they were gone.

_My thrashing slowed, and I felt the wolf features sink back to reveal my normal self. My cheeks were all pink, mostly from the panic that I had experienced, but some of it came from embarrassment. "It's okay, you're safe, nothing's going to get you," he cooed, trying to get my heart down to a normal rate. I guess I didn't factor in the effects of panicking or having a panic attack would bring on the werewolf side of me when I thought about accepting the bite. Well, then again, Derek had told me nothing whatsoever of the side effects or what would change, only showing me what the transformation would look like._

_"Scott," I huffed out quietly against him. "You scared the crap out of me."_

Playing too quickly for me to keep up with.

_"Ahem?" I said, putting my free hand on my hip. All three of them gave me a confused look, and I sighed. "You could knock first. I could've been naked." I could see all there of their faces flush slightly at the comment, and I withheld a snicker that desperately wanted to make its way out of my mouth. Scott grabbed the door handle, pulling it back slightly before knocking on it. A smile perked up in the corner of my mouth. "Come in," I said, motioning with my hand._

Until the last one, which played at a normal pace.

_"I'm Scott. Scott McCall."_

Then they stopped playing before my eyes. The haziness disappeared in an instant, reality coming sharply back to me. My head lolled back and rested on the top of the chair, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt nauseous and like I definitely wanted to throw up.

"Untie her," I heard someone say, but it sounded far away.

"What did you do to me?" I mumbled, then promptly passed out.

* * *

**A/N:** If you don't have a clue what just happened, don't stress, you'll (most likely) figure it out in the next chapter._  
_


	5. I Wish I Could Wake Up With(out) Amnesia

I shot up into a sitting position as I woke up, my hands grabbing white-knuckled fistfuls of the blanket. I removed my hands from their grip on the blanket before I tore it off, clambering off the bed. My vision was blurry and it felt like an invisible person was reaching their hand into my ribcage and squeezing my lungs. I was having a panic attack. I swayed once I was standing, but I ignored my inability to balance and moved forward, stumbling into a doorway. I held onto the door frame like it was a lifeline, trying to figure out what was through the doorway that I had ran into with everything not exactly crystal clear. But it was dark, too dark to see, so I reached around the door frame and felt the wall. My fingers found something that felt like a light switch, so I flicked the presumed-light switch up and everything lit up. Everything was still blurry, but at least I could make out blurry bathroom. I'd stumbled into my bathroom enough times to recognize a blurry one anywhere.

I moved to the sink, which was luckily in close proximity to the door. My hand shot up to the knobs and faucet, before a question popped up in my brain: which one was the cold water? It was always the right one, wasn't it? The knobs didn't have any red or blue color indication or small H's and C's pressed into the top of the metal, so I couldn't tell that way.

Screw it, if I burn my face, I burn my face. I reached for the right knob and turned it inwards first before realizing they turned outwards. So I pushed the knob in the right direction and heard the beautiful noise of water running. I leaned my top half over the sink, resting my forearms on the edge of the basin, hands under the stream of definitely cold and not at all hot water. I closed my eyes as my hair started to fall over my shoulder, taking in a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. I repeated the action a few times before I cupped my hands under the water and brought them towards my face to splash the cold water on it. After I did I turned the faucet off and ran my hands down over my face to rid it of the water.

I stood upright as I dragged my hand over my face once more, opening my eyes to come face-to-face with my reflection. I looked like I hadn't slept for a week; so in other words, I looked like shit. I pushed hair away from my face and I noticed something in my peripheral vision that I couldn't see in the mirror. I didn't move, only moved my eyes from their position straight forward to the corner of my eyes to see if I was just seeing things. Sure enough, there was something in the doorway that hadn't been there before, but I still couldn't make out what it was. So I decided to what any normal person would do: turn around and see what it was, even though this was strangely similar to a lot of horror movies where the girl turns around and BAM! there's a serial killer standing there and BAM! a second time, the girl is now dead. And now that I had completely psyched myself out I grabbed the nearest thing to my right hand and I turned around quickly, holding what I had grabbed out in front of me like I could use it as a weapon.

And that's how I ended up pointing a soap dispender threateningly at Mason, who was standing a little ways away from the doorway.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," I breathed out, dropping the soap dispenser from its threatening position and putting my free hand on my chest.

"You okay?" he asked, taking a step forward so that he was in the doorway.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," I said, leaning back against the sink counter and setting the soap dispenser down, "just having heart palpitations."

"No, I mean for real." Another step, into the bathroom with me. "The reason you stumbled into the bathroom."

"It was nothing." I rubbed my eyes with my fingers. "Just had a nightmare."

I felt him lean against the counter next to me before he quietly said, "about your mom?"

I pulled my fingers from my eyes and looked at him. "How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "Just a guess." A pretty damn good guess.

We sat against the sink counter in silence until I yawned, which caused a question to suddenly pop up in my brain.

"What time is it?"

"Almost eight. Want some coffee?"

"Definitely."

So I followed him out of the bedroom - which I realized as I walked from the bathroom to the doorway that it was not the concrete room I had been in, but instead one that was fully furnished like a bedroom should be - and down the hall to a kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee and dewy grass enveloped the room. He motioned to a small table in the middle of the room as he walked past it to a coffee maker that sat on the kitchen counter. I took a seat in one of the wooden chairs, folding my hands in my lap and closing eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose.

"What are you doing?" Mason asked amusedly and I snapped my eyes open to see him staring at me with a smile on his face.

"I like the smell," I said defensively. He just kept grinning as he walked over to the table, taking a seat across from me as he set down two mugs of coffee, a bottle of creamer, and a container of sugar.

"I don't know how you like your coffee," he admitted as he picked up his own mug and took a sip. I just reached forward and grabbed the mug before grabbing the sugar and the creamer, pouring enough of the latter in my mug to turn it a caramel color and then putting enough of the first to coat the bottom of the mug in a fine layer of sugar. Satisfied with my concoction, I brought the mug to my lips and took a long sip, burning my tongue slightly. I let out a content sigh as I set the mug back down on the table. I couldn't remember the last time I had coffee.

My hands curled around the mug, fingers tapping lightly against the warm ceramic as I looked absentmindedly around the room before settling on an open window above the sink.

"What happened to me last night?" I suddenly asked. I don't know where the question came from, but it seemed to make him sit up straighter in his chair.

He seemed to twitch in his seat slightly before answering me. "What?"

"What happened to me last night?" I repeated.

"What so you remember?" he asked, putting his elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly.

"Nothing, really." I stared down into my coffee before looking back up. "I remember passing out, though. That's it."

"An..._accident_ happened."

"Did I - did I kill someone?"

"No, no, you didn't kill anyone. It was pretty bad though, so removed the memories. I didn't want you to live with that," he said, reaching across the table and placing his hand over mine where it was on the side of the mug. I don't know why, but I was expecting a jolt of something when he touched my hand, but nothing was there, only a vague feeling that I couldn't really trust him. "I t-" he started, but was stopped by a phone ringing. He withdrew his hand and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before getting up from the table, "I've got to take this."

I watched him walk around the table to the hallway, towards the stairs. I heard him go down the stairs before he even answered the phone. I sighed and turned back around in the seat, bringing my mug back to my lips. Within a few minutes I was done with my coffee and Mason had yet to return from downstairs, so took the liberty of getting up from my chair and placing my mug in the sink.

"It feels like it's going to rain," I mumbled to myself, glancing out the window in front of me. I always liked the feeling right before it rained - when the air felt cool and humid, but in a not quite muggy, not quite dry way - so I always took it upon myself to announce whenever I felt the change in air.

Not soon after my announcement there was a roll of thunder and drops began falling from the sky.

* * *

**A/N:** ahhh, I finished this a few days ago but I forgot to post it. sorry.

if you were wondering, Nat did wake up in Mason's bed, and he did stare creepily at her while she was sleeping, maybe even stroked her face a little bit

also he took a few select memories of him doing stuff from her memory (like beating up Isaac and all the threatening confrontations) and that's why she didn't maul him when she saw him and now he's not as much as a dick bc he no longer has to compete with Scott for Nat


	6. please read

**A/N: **okay, so i know a lot of people are looking forward to updates on all of my stories, but i'm just not feeling anymore, so i'm not going to be posting here anymore. i do have a wattpad (incandescence_), though, and am posting updates to my stories that i have here as well as new ones. i just hope you guys understand and respect my decision to not post here anymore.


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